


For Want of a Smile

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Arthur meets Merlin is on the training grounds. The second time Arthur meets Merlin is at the market.</p>
<p>Both times, Arthur can't help but notice that Merlin is absolutely terrified of him.</p>
<p>Which makes it all the more puzzling when Merlin saves his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Want of a Smile

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Merlin.

The boy is obviously scared of him. Arthur knows that as soon as he sees him. He hides it well, but the boy is absolutely terrified.

Which makes it all the more shocking when he quite politely tells Arthur to stop throwing knives at the servant.

Arthur pushes back, metaphorically speaking, a mocking edge to his voice as he asks, "Don't you know who I am?" He doesn't push as hard as he could though, because it feels wrong. Not just the muddled, frustrated sensation of wrong he got from his father's latest order that he was trying to work out by throwing the knives in the first place, but a gut deep sense that he wants to be the kind of king someday who stops that sort of wrenching terror in the boy's eyes, not the kind that makes it worse.

"A knight. That doesn't give you the right to hurt your own servants, though."

He's angry and he doesn't like the way his insides twist at the boy's words, so he reveals his identity with a little too much relish.

The boy looks like he's about to throw up.

He still doesn't back down though.

Arthur feels trapped. He can't back down, and he refuses to steamroll forward, and Sir Leon's coming over to see why training had stopped.

"Help him clean this mess up if you object to it so much," he snaps, gesturing to the target and the knives and catches himself wishing there were servants that could come along and clean up the rest of the mess too - the Druids that he didn't really want to hunt no matter what his father said, the loneliness that the laughing jackals behind him only made worse, this constant sensation that he was failing at something essential.

The boy's eyes light up, and he rushes to do as he was told, and there is far too much relief in the set of his shoulders.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, a voice inside him whispers. This is all wrong. What does he look like to an outsider if this is the reaction he inspires?

He doesn't want to know.

 

He's in the street when he sees the boy again and hears him introducing himself to a girl as Merlin.

There's something about that name that strikes him. Something about the boy that makes the idea of him being afraid laughable, and of him being afraid of Arthur sickening.

Something.

He calls out to him because he wants to understand, not to start something, but the yapping dogs of knights at his back are already cackling in anticipation of their idea of fun, and the hunted look on Merlin's face makes him inexplicably angry.

The insults aren't fair, and he knows it, but Merlin just takes it, and, as soon as he can, he slips away.

It surprises Arthur when he's swallowed his shame enough to consider it. What cowed the boy today that he wouldn't stand up for himself as he did yesterday, despite his terror?

Except it hadn't been for himself yesterday, had it? It had been for someone else.

He throws himself into the sparring match even harder when he thinks about the kind of courage that must have taken, abruptly furious with the knights looking forward to carrying out his father's orders, with their fawning attention to him, with the pride they take in this pageantry, with everything.

 

The boy - no, Merlin, the boy was Merlin, why did the name not quite fit? - saves his life.

Arthur can't quite fathom why, as the boy jumps away from him at the first opportunity like touching Arthur causes him physical pain. He cringes away from Uther when the king turns his eyes on him and appears more frozen than jubilant as the king talks about a reward.

When his father announces what that reward will be, Merlin looks as if he's just received a death sentence. Arthur protests on behalf of the boy, but he's ignored.

This is going to be torturous for everyone involved, Arthur thinks grimly. Except for his father, who won't have to live with the results.

Arthur loves his father, he does, he just wonders whether love is supposed to make you feel this dull and angry and hurt all the time.

He supposes it must; he feels the same about Morgana, and she's the only other example he can think of.

 

Sire. Your Highness.

It takes him two weeks to notice that his new servant never calls him "my lord". It could mean nothing, of course, but he can't help feeling that it's Merlin's way of refusing to accept any sort of tie to him, any sort of responsibility or bond.

He barely talks, he avoids Arthur as much as possible, he looks like he fears for his life during training, and he always touches Arthur's sword like he's just been handed the bones of a child.

Arthur would fire him for his own good if he thought he could get away with it.

By this point, he has to admit he's curious and, well, concerned. This should not be one of his people's reactions to their prince. The fact that it is worries him.

He tries talking to the boy, but he's lucky to get monosyllabic answers.

Until -

"Sir Valiant has a magic shield with snakes that come to life, and he's using it to cheat in the tournament. I have proof."

Merlin shoves a snake's head at him. Arthur blinks at it.

"If you check his shield, you'll notice there's one less than there used to be. They're venomous."

Arthur stares at him.

Merlin goes red, then white. " . . . Sire."

"Right," Arthur finally manages. He doesn't say anything about differences in station or proof because Merlin looks like he's fully aware of all of this, and he wouldn't have worked himself up to say it if he didn't think it was absolutely, positively, necessary.

Sure enough, one of the snake's heads is now missing on the shield. Arthur believes Merlin, one hundred percent, but no one else does.

Arthur looks at his father when Sir Valiant accuses him of cowardice and thinks of all he's done for his father, all the enemies he's killed and monsters he's fought, yet his father asks -

Merlin is white lipped and tense when Arthur storms into the room. His eyes are closed, and he seems close to hyperventilating, and any intention Arthur had of venting at him goes out the window.

"It's not your fault," he says instead.

"Please don't fight him," Merlin whispers.

"I've fought worse. I'll live." He pauses. "Though have the antidote close, just in case."

He could swear, as he leaves the room, that he hears Merlin mutter, "Oh, yeah, that inspires loads of confidence," and he feels like laughing, just a little, possibly hysterically, but this is progress, isn't it? A little like friendship, almost.

He shoves the thought aside because of course this isn't friendship. Friendship is sparring and laughing at things other than the prince and - and -

Friendship is Morgana laughing at him and calling him an idiot and arguing and manipulating him into knots until he feels as dumb as a rock, but she still tosses him a sword, and that's friendship.

It's like love; it's supposed to hurt. It matters because you stick around anyway.

Although by that definition, he supposes he is friends with Merlin.

Perhaps he needs to work on his definitions a bit.

 

It keeps going like that. Merlin keeps his mouth shut except when he winds himself up to deliver news or insight, and Arthur listens, because if he's gotten over his terror to say it, it must be important.

Merlin's not afraid of Gwen and Lancelot, and that hurts, but Arthur ignores it. They're not nobles. Of course he's not afraid of them.

He just can't quite wrap his mind around why you'd drink poison for someone you feared. He doesn't understand a lot about Merlin, actually.

After Arthur brings back the cure, Merlin calls him "my lord" for the first time, and it feels like a victory. Something about the phrase seems right the way the others didn't, or at least closer to what it should be.

 

Merlin confesses to sorcery with something almost like relief, and Arthur tells himself it's because he thinks he's found a way to save Gwen. Arthur steps in for him, easily, but he wonders for a half moment.

He only wonders for a half moment though, because his father always drilled into him that if someone gives you reason to think they're a sorcerer, even for a moment, they have to die.

He always tries to follow his father's orders, so he only wonders for a half moment and then makes himself stop.

He doesn't analyze why.

Fire and tunnels and water - that's what comes to mind when he tries to define friendship again, and he adds confessions and covering for idiot manservants into the mix.

 

Edwin and Sophia bring their separate chaos. He worries for Morgana and she for him in turn, and it feels nice, even if he teases her. It's lighter, somehow, than it usually is between them.

Then there's Mordred.

He should turn him in. That's what his father would want.

But. But that path feels like the angry and muddled kind of wrong, just like it felt wrong to see the chains on Morgana's wrists and to know that she actually thought he would hurt her. That path has the pallor on Merlin's cheeks getting even worse, and has Gwen go from biting her lip to being back in a cell.

Apparently, Uther Pendragon has managed to raise not one, but two magic sympathizers, Arthur thinks in disgust, but he helps them and it feels -

Like fire and tunnels and confessions and covering for a friend.

Merlin smiles at him, actually beams, and Arthur can't help smiling back automatically, suddenly feeling ridiculously proud.

 

His uncle comes back from the dead to kill either him or his father, and he thinks _no._ This is wrong.

It's revenge, pure and simple, except for the magic, and it should make perfect sense to a knight, but it doesn't. Not anymore.

 

Merlin introduces his mother to Arthur. He realizes how far Merlin has come when he sees the look in her eyes. Merlin's terror has faded to wariness, mixed with occasional smiles. Hers is fresh.

He also sees where Merlin gets him courage from, because she stands half in front of Merlin the whole time.

"Why didn't your father come?" he asks Merlin, as he prepares to go ask his father to grant Hunith an audience.

Merlin won't look at him. "Ealdor's a border town. Essetir and Camelot fight over it sometimes."

"Yes, so?"

"When I was younger, knights of Camelot showed up to look for sorcerers. We thought they were just raiding again. The men got together to fight them off." Merlin fiddles with the cloak he's supposed to be taking to be washed. "That's one of my earliest memories. Those red cloaks flying so heroically as they rode in and then - My father was a leader in the village. They thought he might know something about magic users. They - questioned him. For a long time." He rubs his finger over the red, red cloak. "They wouldn't let us bury him. They said he was in league with the sorcerers and his body had to be burned."

Arthur can't breathe.

He gasps in air, finally, and chokes out, "Why would she come here, then? Why would she let you?"

Merlin looks surprised. "Cenred's men are worse." He shrugs. "And she had to send me. There wasn't enough food to get us through the winter. It was send me to the city to earn something or sit there and starve."

"Why save me?" he manages. So many times already.

"Had to, at first," Merlin mutters under his breath, and then goes so pale Arthur immediately shoves it under the category of tree branches and confessions. "You're supposed to be better than that. Someday. It would be a shame if you never got there."

It has the hint of something like prophecy under it, so Arthur just nods, not sure he can afford to know more. Merlin nods back, eyes wet, and turns to go.

"Merlin."

"My lord?"

"I'm sorry."

It is the first time he has apologized to anyone but his father or Morgana in - Ever, possibly, and it's for something that's not his fault by any stretch of the imagination. It's not his fault the knights broke the code, its not his fault Cenred's men are worse, its not his fault a village not even in Camelot is on the verge of starving.

But Merlin blinks back shock and tears and gives a smile so blinding he thinks that perhaps he should try it more often.

"Thank you." Merlin hesitates by the door. "Thank you. Arthur."

He ducks out before Arthur can react.

He should be angry, probably. It's a liberty, certainly.

One he's smiling at. Like an idiot.

It feels even better than tunnels and covering for a friend, so he keeps it, light and surprisingly not painful, glowing in his chest.

His father says he can't go.

Arthur smiles and says, "Yes, sire," and goes anyway.

It feels good.


End file.
